


Breathing's Just A Rhythm

by diadema



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, One Shot, Remix, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 05:34:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16402277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diadema/pseuds/diadema
Summary: A remix of "The Sound of Rain" by Festiveviolet 31. <3"Illya comforts Gaby after a mission gone wrong" - retold from Gaby's POV.





	Breathing's Just A Rhythm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Festiveviolet31](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Festiveviolet31/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Sound of Rain](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12500392) by [Festiveviolet31](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Festiveviolet31/pseuds/Festiveviolet31). 



> Wishing a happy AO3-iversary to a dear friend and one of my favorite Gallya writers, Festiveviolet31 (I know it's technically tomorrow for her, but we're going by my timezone, lol). Her work is lyrical and deeply emotive, and her kindness and humor have been a blessing over this last year. She is a treasured part of this fandom, and I am deeply grateful for her. <3
> 
> "The Sound of Rain" was her very first fic and holds a special place in my heart. It still takes my breath away when I read it. This remix can stand alone, but PLEASE go do yourselves a favor and read it!!! And if you're looking to add an extra bit of ambiance, I listened to [this soundscape](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZpYkwG6EJY8) while writing. :)
> 
> Many thanks, as always, to Somedeepmystery for her insights and encouragement. Thank you all so much for reading! Comments always welcome. <3

It is the sound of rain that wakes her. Gaby flinches on instinct: the same way she did back then, the same way she has done now for weeks. Her arms rise to shield her face, but no sickly, yellow light arcs through the darkness. There are no shouts. No grasping, bruising hands. There is only the faint glow of a streetlamp and the even weight of the rain like a gentle hand on her shoulder, coaxing her to go outside.

She slowly lowers her arms. Her eyes are darting wildly back and forth, looking for threats where there are none. A ragged breath tears from her lungs. It is more sigh than sob: too quiet to wake Illya, though she feels him stir beside her nonetheless. However safe and familiar this room is, however _different_ from that other space she’d been kept in, the walls are still closing in around her. Gaby throws back the duvet and lurches unsteadily to her feet.

The rain continues calling her, more insistent now with its siren song. It thrums with the promise of fresh air and freedom, reminds her that the world is larger than a windowless cell. Gaby chases after it. She stumbles towards the bedroom door, feet bare against the night-chilled floorboards. It doesn't bother her. Just one more layer of sensation.

Her hand brushes the sleeve of something soft, and she snags it from its hook without thinking. The robe smells like Illya and dwarfs her slender frame. It feels like a lifetime ago since she’d claimed it from his apartment.

On nights like these, it is a source of comfort she won’t admit to. Gaby knows that she could wake the man himself, that he would want her to—has asked her to many times before—but she doesn’t.

He has already done enough.

Gaby tucks the worn, gray fabric tighter against her body as she navigates her flat with unseeing eyes. She is trembling, fingers clumsy, but she manages to unlatch the French doors. She leaves them wide open as she steps out onto the balcony.

The rain greets her like an old friend. It peppers her with kisses as she pitches herself against the railing, clinging to the metal for support. She gulps in air so cold, it burns, until her lungs begin to ache. And still, it is not enough.

Gaby raises her bowed head and takes in the glistening skyline around her. Relief shivers through her. She has missed it: this view, this _certainty_ that she is home once more.

When the tears come, she doesn’t fight them. She lets them fall without shame or pretense. They mingle with sympathetic raindrops, murmuring against her skin: catharsis and cleansing found in the embrace of the elements.

It is music that surrounds her now. A symphony inviting her to forget, forget, forget. While all of London dreams around her, Gaby weaves a melody from the weeping stars. The rain dances along the balcony—a heavy staccato beat. It is a hail of gunfire, the footsteps echoing down the corridor, the pounding of fists against the wall. It is the rhythm of rescue, the song of salvation.

Her sobs subside as she listens to it. The aching in her chest grows quiet, and her fears begin to ease. Gaby relaxes her grip on the railing, flexes her chafing fingers as she turns away. She’s not ready to leave just yet.

She curls up in the outdoor chair and lets her eyes drift shut. Illya will come looking for her soon. It will hardly be the first time he’s found her like this.

He knows where she hides when she’s at work, knows where she runs to when she can’t sleep. He never asks her to explain, and she rarely volunteers.

They don’t need to.

She and Illya have talked about it all before, though there are some secrets that Gaby will take to her grave. And, by the flash in Illya’s eyes whenever he discovers her, the minute tremor in his hands he can’t quite hide, he has them too.

Gaby tucks her knees into her chest and burrows deeper into his robe. She relaxes her limbs by degrees, lets the heaviness overtake her. The moon will keep guard over her until Illya finds her again.

_He always does._

 

* * *

 

The quilt is a welcome weight on her damp skin: soft and dry and warm. It draws a contented sigh from her, envelops her in memories of a different time he’d tucked her into bed. She begins to dream of dancing and wrestling. Her hand in his and—

 _“Chopshopgirl.”_ She mumbles it beneath her breath. Gaby smiles then, for perhaps the first time since she’d been taken. It gives Illya pause. She can feel his hesitation, hear the faint hitch in his breathing as she drops back into sleep.

 

* * *

 

“Shhh,” he whispers. Illya’s breath is warm against the shell of her ear. It pierces through the panic as he holds her: a low, soothing refrain. “Shhh.”

She shakes against him, shoulders spasming with the force of her anxiety. “I—” she gasps. Swallows. Gasps again. “I had a dream.”

Illya tightens his arms around her. “I know.”

He starts to stroke her hair as if that could draw the darkness out of her, like poison from a wound. His chest is solid against her back, body heat radiating through the layers of fabric between them. If she concentrates, Gaby could swear she feels his heartbeat.

“Just breathe,” he murmurs. His voice is thunder on the horizon, a deep rumble, low and soothing. He takes strong, slow breaths, exaggerating the movements to anchor her own, more erratic ones. “It’s going to be okay.”

And, despite it all, she believes him.

Gaby traces idle patterns on the back of Illya’s hand, focuses on matching the rise and fall of his chest. Soon, they are breathing in unison.

_Inhale._

_Exhale._

_Inhale._

_Exhale._

A steady, comforting rhythm as the rain continues to fall.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Regina Spektor's "One More Time With Feeling". 
> 
> Thank you again! Please go read "The Sound of Rain" if you haven't already and check out [her other works](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Festiveviolet31/pseuds/Festiveviolet31). They're all well worth a read. And please go and share the love! <3
> 
> PS - I'm toying around with the idea of running a Remix Challenge this summer, if anyone is interested...


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